


Flightless Birds Don't Twitter [DRRR x STwH]

by flyed



Category: Durarara!!, 囀る鳥は羽ばたかない | Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Developing Friendships, Eventual Shizaya, Heiwajima Chikara x Izayashiro, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Masochism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Raijin Days, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sadism, Saezuru Tori Wa Habatakanai Crossover, Sexual Violence, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Unrequited Love, Yakuza
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:53:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5686465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyed/pseuds/flyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two boys gravitate towards each other from opposite ends of a room</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Durarara!!! crossover with Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai by Yoneda Kou
> 
> If you haven't heard of that manga I'd highly recommend you to check it out!  
> Warning: Yaoi, Graphic, Sexual abuse, Dubious consent
> 
> This will be an ongoing story that I will write "on the fly", concurrently with my other work.  
> Any content you wish to see will be considered if you leave them in the comments section.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

 

 

_seen from a far enough distance i cannot be seen._

_the landscape dissociates itself into mere lines and geometry that have nothing to do with anything._

_how relaxing it is when my mind escapes the perpetual chore of having to make sense._

_the world expands and quietly reminds us that we are truly alone in our interpreted world._

  


Out on the edge of a rooftop a certain boy dangles himself over the railings, upside down, held in place only by his feet hooking onto the vertical bars of the railing. His arms hang limply by the side of his head, his face serene, telling nothing of his dreams as he lightly dozes. At the other end of the rooftop, another boy lies on top of the stairwell, a cigarette loosely perched on his lips. He tucks his palms under his head, allowing the gentle breeze to brush against his eyelids, the balmy air wafting over him like a blanket… It was a perfect day for lounging under the skies, a canopy of stratified clouds gently shielding from the sun. The tranquil silence continues for the rest of lunch break until a shrill ringing slices the air in half. Shizuo gets up, tossing the exhausted cigarette butt into the drain, stretching away his sleepy bones. As he twists his torso, he spots what appears to be the school uniform draped over the railings on the far end of the rooftop. Shizuo rubs his eyes, wondering if somebody could be drying his uniform out on the roof, when his mind flashes in danger yellow alerting him that if it were indeed clothing it should have been flapping in the wind. In an instant he leaps off the stairwell, sprints towards that which is definitely a body, and yanks on the calves with so much force the body flips over midair and collides into his own, sending them both crashing onto the ground.

 

“AH— OUUCHHH!!! WHAT THE FUCK!!!”

 

Shizuo cringes and peels his eyes open to meet the boy yelling at his face. His eyes widen at the orbs that stare back at him, a rusty brown shade with an occasional tinge of reddish hue as sunlight sweeps past. They were a rare colour that he has never seen before, and remarkably beautiful. The brunette boy pushes off his chest and rolls onto the floor next to him, groaning, “I think you’ve twisted my ankle. What gave you the right to manhandle me like that? Have you no manners? Such an uncivilised brute!”

Shizuo narrows his eyes, his reverie immediately shattered, wishing that this ingrate had not just opened his mouth. “I think I just saved you, ungrateful louse, you were OUTSIDE the railings and could’ve died!”

“Well excuse me but I CHOSE be there, and was definitely NOT going to die, until you swung me in the air nearly yanking my ankles off!”

Speechless at the incredulity of this situation, Shizuo gapes, anger boiling over his temples. “I fucking hate people like you. Next time, if you wish to die, do it where people can’t see you,” he says, and storms off before his rage does something he eventually regrets.

Izaya purses his lips, heat gathering at his cheeks, “I don’t _wish to die_ , idiot. And I didn’t think anyone else comes here anyway.” Slowly, he rolls his ankles to test their mobility, flinching in admission that they have indeed been twisted. Left alone on the rooftop, he has no choice but to make his own way down the flights of stairs, each painful step in his descent leading him to the conclusion that he has had enough of this day.

 

Back in the classroom, Shizuo sits with his arms folded, posture emanating hostility as his anger from the earlier event still simmers within him. Never has he felt so embarrassed and misunderstood at having, apparently, _accidentally_ saved a person who didn’t ask to be saved. In retrospect he could have asked, or even shout out at that person first, or pull him back into safety gently, but fuck he had panicked alright, and in that moment acted without thinking, without holding back his strength… So he might have caused more harm instead. Things always turn out horribly wrong around him, which was why he preferred to spend his breaks alone on the rooftop, far away from the lunchtime crowds… He had left that boy up there. Didn’t even ask his name. Guilt gnaws on the walls of his heart and he drums his fingers restlessly against his elbow bone, wondering if he should run back to the rooftop just to check. The teacher arrives and he stays in his seat. Roll call begins and the teacher checks off names in a monotone, sounding slightly bored. Post-lunch always has an effect of drowning the air with a lazy vibe. Time trickles by unbearably slow, and heat saturates the air with heavy water droplets. “Orihara Izaya.”

An awkward silence.

“Has anybody seen Orihara-kun?”

More silence.

“Ah! Sensei,” a short bespectacled boy raises his hand and stands up, “Orihara-kun just informed me that he has twisted his ankles and is going to the doctors,” he says in a chirpy tune inappropriate to the content of his words.

Shizuo sits upright now, glancing between the teacher, who is now scratching the back of his head in familiar resignation, and the bespectacled boy he recognizes as Shinra, his classmate from elementary school. He wonders to himself about what a strange name Orihara Izaya is, unable to reconcile the information that that boy on the rooftop was his classmate all along. How could he have never seen him in class before? How could he miss those unique eyes?

“Eh.. Orihara-kun’s injured again? You said ‘ankles’? Is he going to the doctors by himself with _both_ ankles twisted?”

“Hmm… I think so? I’m not sure but I’ll check on him after school.”

“... Alright, remind him to request for an official medical certificate. And pass him his homework.

Quiet everyone, class has started.”

 

The teacher had initially seemed to question the legitimacy of such news, insinuating that perhaps the student had feigned a poorly formed excuse to play truant, but instead switched his doubt quickly into concern as if the mention of the name ‘Orihara Izaya’ grants some kind of warranted leniency. Shizuo watches as the whispers among his classmates die down, resolving to speak to Shinra after class. He glances around and spots an empty seat on the far end of the classroom by the window, an image of the boy staring outside with his rust-coloured eyes materialising in his mind. Somehow, he needs nothing more to believe that that scene would hold true in reality. It’s no wonder that Shizuo has never noticed him before; with such a faint aura, Izaya’s presence would be easily absorbed by the walls. And Shizuo had placed himself right at the back nearest to the door in order to ensure a speedy exit. A mild, inexplicable tingling bubbles up in Shizuo’s chest as he realises that once again, the two boys find themselves on opposite ends of a room.

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

 

_you may tie me up and take me down._

_only the strongest remain strong when they lie relinquished at your feet._

_victory is overwhelming when you give yourself up;_

_and yet they soon realise that they have nothing to gain, and you have nothing to lose._

 

The distance drags on with his destination nowhere in sight. The pleasant sun rays of early afternoon has by now developed into scorching beams that threaten to sear him. Izaya curses under his breath, his usual twenty minute walk home now seeming like a tortuous journey across the Sahara Desert on foot. His shirt is soaked through, the task a fool's errand. Just as he whips his phone out deciding to call a cab, his ringtone goes off indicating a call from Shiki. Izaya has been working for Shiki for years now and knew not to test his patience, but the tedium of the day had caused riotous feelings to bubble up within him. He answers the call after a moment of hesitation and says, "Shiki-San. Good day to you. I have a bit of bad news, you see, an unexpected incident earlier today caused me to have both my ankles twisted. I'd like to take a week off, if that's okay. So sorry about the trouble." He had spoken as genially as he could manage, most people would agree, but the hint of irritation that laced his voice did not go undetected by Shiki. As a high-ranking member of the Awakusu-kai, the art of picking up on nonverbal cues could determine the outcome of life or death. "Stay there. I'll come to pick you up. Don't worry, you won't be needing your legs."

Shortly, a black limousine arrives and the door opens automatically for Izaya to climb in. He was greeted by Shiki and his right-hand man Akabayashi, who were sharing a bottle of fine triple-casked single malt throwing shiny ripples onto the table in the middle. Izaya wrinkles his nose, finding the stench of alcohol and cigarettes repugnant. He will never understand why these old men seem to enjoy them so much.

"So early and drinking already? Smells awful," he comments without disguising distaste.

Akabayashi chuckles, "that's why you're just a brat."

"We are expecting a high-profile client today. You need to be prepared."

Shiki sips on his liquid gold, saying nothing more, but the message was clear. Izaya understood that being prepared meant not only as in mentally speaking, but bodily as well. He is to be prepared as bait for a sensitive client, which also means his job is to extract information without divulging any association to the Awakusu-kai. They travel the rest of the way in silence, eventually reaching the foyer of the Grand Hyatt in Roppongi Hills. On the highest floor of the building they enter room 6872 while the two bodyguards remain outside. Izaya giggles in appreciation at Shiki’s warped sense of humor; ' _roku sen happyaku nana jyuu ni_ ' when said quickly in full makes gross reference to the war for Roppongi, ass-smacking and guns.

"Ha ha, that's clever, do you think the leader of that rival gang will get it?"

Shiki leaks a rare smile, "how do you know you're meeting the leader of a rival gang?"

Izaya rolls his eyes and waves a hand, " _Grand_ Hyatt, and the room number obviously. I could make reference to a certain combat butler but I reckon that is beneath your flair for archaic poetry and symbology."

"Astute as always. I don't suppose you need my assistance. Go take a bath. Get him ready, Akabayashi-kun."

Izaya strips and lowers himself into the western-style bathtub, allowing the warm water to soothe his strained muscles. His thoughts drift back to the boy from this afternoon; that ridiculous amount of strength is definitely not normal. Blond hair, inhuman strength... Ah. He must be the guy that transferred here in the middle of last year. Transfers are rare, and transfers mid-semester even rarer. He must have had been expelled from his previous school for fighting or something. Izaya lets his thoughts meander until Akabayashi knocks on the bathroom door.

"You alright in there, Orihara-kun?"

Sighing at having to leave the water's loving embrace, Izaya dries himself with a fluffy towel and emerges from the bathroom, not bothering to put his clothes on. Akabayashi motions for him to stand before the king-sized bed and opens a luggage containing various vibrators and ropes of jute. "You're getting treated to some fine traditional _kinbaku_ today. Isn't that your favourite, Orihara-kun?" Akabayashi smiles warmly, stretching his fingers. Izaya couldn't help but return a grin, he did enjoy Akabayashi's rope-tying finesse. The ropes were high quality loose triple-strand jute, regularly pre-treated with oil and relaxed with warm water. His techniques were top-notch, effectively restraining yet of intricate design. It always made Izaya feel like a precious prize.

"What design are we having today, Shiki-no-Danna?"

" _Hishi Karada_. We're talking diamonds of course. Or should we mock him with a tortoise? No. He isn't that worthy."

 

Shiki sits poised, leaning back into a baroque armchair, watching with steepled fingers and sharp eyes as Akabayashi retrieves a long rope and slings it in half around Izaya’s neck. He ties an overhand knot over the boy's chest, and ties more knots at intervals nine inches apart. He lines the ropes along the sides of Izaya’s cock and ties another knot under his crotch. The rope is pulled taut between his buttcheeks and Izaya twitches, that well-placed knot rubbing pleasurably on the underside of his scrotum. Akabayashi masterfully weaves the separate pieces of rope from his back to his front and back again, each time looping through and pulling the parallel strands of rope apart, making little twists for additional decorative effect. He finishes by binding Izaya’s arms behind his back, and seals the bind with a circular weave resembling a _sakura_ flower or a peony, like a bow of ribbon over the starburst pattern on his back.

"Come on, Orihara-kun. Sit on the bed. Spread your legs, knees to chest. I'll bind your calves to your thighs so that way you won't have to use your ankles. Ah, the _sakura_ would be pretty uncomfortable if you're lying on it, huh? Let me suspend your torso first."

Izaya complies, and with the remaining rope, his body is being suspended at an angle from his shoulders to the horizontal bars of the bed-netting. With fluid movements of experienced hands, Izaya’s shins were fastened to his thighs and attached to his hips, keeping his legs splayed open and his feet off the bed. It was truly a spectacular sight. The large bed adorned with plush pillows, on all sides a translucent drape. Izaya lays half suspended in the middle, an elaborate crisscrossing of ropes around his fair body, naked and ethereal. Akabayashi steps back, admiring his piece of art. "Good work," Shiki breathes as he rises from his chair and walks towards the bed, "I'll take over."

"Orihara-kun, you look absolutely beautiful."

Izaya isn't sure why his face feels flushed at a compliment normally reserved for women, but his skin prickle, suddenly feeling self-conscious at being completely exposed. Shiki applies lubricant on his hands and slips two fingers in without warning, causing a ragged moan to escape from Izaya’s throat. He pushes in deeper, eliciting shallow breaths that morph into pants. As if to keep up with the rhythm of Izaya’s quickening heartbeat, Shiki moves the length of his fingers up and down his insides, twisting them against his prostate. Izaya moans freely now, his erection throbbing, abdomen clenching, thighs protesting against the ropes. Just as heat wells at the base of his cock, Shiki abruptly pulls out his fingers, and squeezes the ropes encircling his cock. The moan catches mid-breath as Izaya yells, desperate to be touched. "Haa— fffffuck! Shik—" Shiki shoves a large vibrator through his entrance, unsympathetically piercing him with a few thrusts before burying it deep inside. He turns on the vibration, and the two men leave Izaya in the room alone with no means to release his pulsing cock.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing smut lol! Please forgive any awkwardness.  
> The 'shibari' technique used here is the basic body weave, that creates a diamond pattern down the middle of the torso.  
> It is apparently often confused with the 'kikkou', a tortoise shell pattern that has a six-sided shape over the chest area.  
> The 'kikkou' is considered an advanced level technique for its elaborately decorative effect.  
> Izaya assumes the 'M' 'kata', or form, an important element of Japanese aesthetic.
> 
> But of course most of you already know that! ;D


	3. Chapter 3

  

_the inducement of pain redirects the sympathetic nervous system, closing the gate to slower forms of pain._

_the brain releases endorphins and dopamine, producing and reinforcing elevated feelings of pleasure._

_it is only Science. we’ve all learnt about it._

_i need a moment please._

 

It wasn’t until an hour later when the door opens again, this time four different men in four different suits, the stench of different cigarettes and the clacking of different shoes. Izaya’s brain is firing blanks from overstimulation, saliva making tracks down the sides of his mouth, his cock gloriously pink and glistening with pre-cum. Seen from the doorway, the shudders rippling throughout his body make for an elusive performance of shadow play behind the curtains. The sound of guns cocking and deliberate footsteps approach the bed but Izaya has no mind to register any of that. The men pause, stock-still before the elaborate display, sharp intakes of air an exclamation or testament to beholding a grandiose scene. The leader breaks the silence first, “Where is Shiki. Is this the right room?”

His partner raises an eyebrow, eyes not leaving the body spread out before him, “6872, there’s no mistake. There’s something vulgar about the way that number sounds, as well as this _thing_ here, or at least it should be. Somehow it isn’t… Ryuuzaki-Sama, what should we do?”

The young leader of the Matsubara branch, known to others as the fearsome Dragon of the Peninsula, rapidly gained a reputation for his ruthless ways and the fierce loyalty of his brothers. Despite being a relatively new gang, they have solid traction from supporters and are looking to found their own territory in the dead zone between Roppongi Hills and Midtown. This move might potentially encroach onto the territory of Awakusu-kai, which is not to the best interest of Shiki. Ryuuzaki knows that the purpose of this meeting was more likely a test, but his inexperience could not resolve a situation he has never encountered before. His brash blood boils in his veins. He dials Shiki’s number with tight lips and drawls, “Shiiiiiki-San, what is the meaning of this?” At the mention of Shiki’s name, Izaya struggles to open his bleary eyes. A _gift_ , Shiki explains, he is the very best, accommodating to every type, feel free to partake as an apology for not being able to make it to their arrangement. Ryuuzaki shuts his phone and tosses it aside, shrugging off his jacket. He stalks towards the bed and kneels over Izaya’s form, “you’re the best, _huuhhhh_ ? _Accommodating_? IS HE ASKING IF I WANT TO FUCK OR BE FUCKED!?”, Ryuuzaki squeezes Izaya’s painfully erect cock in a fist, causing Izaya’s eyes to blow open like molten lava. Ryuuzaki froze at the sight of those arresting eyes and time pauses, charging the air with static that feels almost palpable.

 

He swallows.

“...... Pass me your knife,” he says to his men stretching a hand out behind him.

“Boss….”

“NOW!”

 

Fury coursing through his veins, Ryuuzaki swipes the knife from his subordinate and slashes at the ropes holding Izaya like an angel in midair. He grabs the brunette hair and throws the boy onto his stomach, slashing away at the flower of an offering binding Izaya’s hands to his back. The sudden friction of his cock grinding against the sheets sends a shrill cry from Izaya who finds his weight bearing down on his hurt ankles. With one hand, Ryuuzaki pulls the gasping boy's arms by the ropes over his head and with his other unbuckles his belt and rams his already erect penis into Izaya’s hole with the vibrator still inside. He slams into Izaya's rear with the full force of his body, spitting out hate between each breath.

"IF SHIKI WANTS ME TO FUCK YOU, I WILL FUCK YOU!!"

The vibrator whirs, scrambling his intestines as Ryuuzaki pounds his way into his body. For a moment of eternity Izaya’s brain flashes blindingly in blue and red and white, hearing nothing but his own laboured breathing. He can't tell if his eyes are open, if his mouth moves, if his body is still his own or a sack of human meat. This is it. The high that drives his soul out of his body, the drug so addictive he craves for more. More more more and all for nothing, nothing to gain, nothing to lose. Haa...

 

"Burn... me... nghh…… use your.. ciga.. rette......"

"What's that, you fucking slut?"

Ryuuzaki bends forward and sinks his teeth into the skin on the back of Izaya’s neck, clenching down hard as he climaxes, releasing his load in a violent jerk. A ringing in his ears and then nothing, the pain blocked Izaya out from the world as his eyes rolled back and he blacked out.

 

Shiki returns with Akabayashi a few hours later to find the room pitch-black. He has a bad feeling about things, due to the number of missed calls to the informant's cellphone, and he knows that Izaya is never one to miss a call. Especially not from him. He makes his way towards the bed leaving Akabayashi to flick on the light switch, and in the moment of revelation, forces himself to steel his emotions betraying nothing in his expression. He lights a cigarette, expelling a lungful of smoke in a heavy sigh.

"WHOA— Holy... That's brutal." Akabayashi pushes his shades against his nose bridge, feeling a twinge of disgust at the scene before him. He feels sorry for the boy who is really still a child but knows better than to involve personal feelings with business matters.

The informant lies unconscious, prostrated in the middle of the bed, frayed jute strewn around him. Red seeps from gashes on his back, pooling with cloudy white cum sticky on his belly, some still spilling out from between his legs and onto the sheets. Shaking away the minutes that shudder to rewind, the two men proceed to undo the bindings with wordless remorse at the disgraceful treatment towards a piece of beautiful art. Shiki rolls him onto his back, gently cradling his head, tapping his face to wake him. Izaya rouses slowly but not completely; he blinks hazily, holding Shiki's gaze for a moment in silent communication and he knows that Shiki understood. Shiki plucks the cigarette from his lips and presses it into Izaya's chest. Izaya inhales and lets his eyelids fall shut again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do we not expect Izayashiro to get fucked up? Oh yes we do! Back to school tomorrow ^u^
> 
> Somehow i find writing in third person more challenging than writing in first person. They both have their nuances but it seems like i personally am more inclined to "getting into the person's head". A narrator feels more detached, and i feel like i am trying harder to persuade you or affect you somehow(?) Besides, how many ways are there to describe 'Izaya', 'the boy (with the ___)', 'the brunette'?  
> LOL. I have so much to learn! 
> 
> PS need i mention that the small italicised passages gracing each chapter are Izaya's thoughts?


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

_at first a film of oil, and then thick with poison_

_words die on my lips_

 

Izaya wakes to the alarm going off on his phone the next day, finding himself clean and wrapped in a white bathrobe in his own bed. He lets his body rest for a few more minutes under the duvet, allowing the soft comforter to soothe his aching limbs. A dull throb creeps up from his ankles to his calves to his groin along his spine and to his shoulders, the injury exacerbated by the stresses of last night. He could still feel a phantom rod lodged in between his legs. He wills his mind to acclimatise to this new sensation, accepting every jab in his muscles and stab in his brain as a natural state. When every muscle group has been accounted for, Izaya leaves the warmth of his bed for the cold spray of the showerhead. It is now the peak of summer but Izaya dresses himself in his usual long-sleeved shirt and long pants. No matter how hot or humid it is, he never complains and he never deviates. He views it as simply a necessity, a matter of fact; his _trademarked_ attire.

How he loves the irony. There is no need to question or wish otherwise.

From the West end of Ikebukuro Shizuo makes his usual jaunt to school, avoiding the main roads by taking detours along back lanes and alleyways. It makes his walk longer by double the amount of time but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wonders if he would find Izaya sitting by the window today, and wonders if he could ask Shinra to introduce them. Such a thought had innocently flitted across his mind when Shizuo, appalled, swats it away. There is absolutely no way they could be friends, they would never get along ever, he thinks. Wait, did he _want_ to become friends with that awful personality? No way! Perhaps he had just wanted to apologise for hurting that boy’s fragile ankles. The academy building looms before him and in his preoccupation the distance had gone by unnoticed.

The classroom fills with mindless chatter, students eager to expend their energies before the forced quiescence of lesson time. Izaya sits with one knee crossed over the other, chin resting on a palm, gazing nonchalantly out of the window. Nobody pays him any heed, but so far he has learnt about an unimpressive _goukon_ , Fallout 4 winning best videogame of the year, their school baseball team anticipating to enter the Nationals this season, and that one could actually die from an air bubble entering the gums. It has been a moderately enriching morning, though not nearly entertaining enough. He was in this state of mind when Shizuo enters the classroom and spots him, an air of disdain radiating from his standoffish posture, echoing the scene that Shizuo had pictured the day before. Shizuo rubs his eyes, an action he eventually catches himself doing more and more often whenever it is relating to this guy, wondering if it is merely his imagination or for real this time. There is something strange and otherworldly about this person; he gives of a vibe that could be construed as moody and completely unapproachable, yet Shizuo has a gut feeling that the reality is not so. Guarded? No, it isn’t even that, his loose posture implies that he is at ease. One could even go as far as to think it says, ‘Come at me if you dare’. Shizuo furrows his brows, trying to qualify the sensations and feelings he receives from this existence, trying to glean a tangible ray of understanding from the murky waters of his instincts, when with precise timing, Izaya turns his head to look straight at him, as if anticipating his arrival. It was in that moment when their eyes connect, the clarity that pierces through from eyes like windows that it strikes Shizuo: These unwavering eyes that see through everybody sees nothing. It is as if contained in his own bubble, Izaya alone has decided a long time ago that nobody will ever be able to understand him. And that profound loneliness, Shizuo realises, is exactly the same sentiment that he has held within himself for a long time...

Shizuo averts his gaze immediately, embarrassed at having been caught staring, inwardly kicking himself for subconsciously zooming his eyes onto that boy in the first place. He seats himself clumsily, letting his hair fall over to hide his blushing cheeks, begrudging to admit that the boy is actually really beautiful. At lunch time, Shizuo proceeds with his usual routine, first to leave the classroom, first to reach the canteen. He buys a sweet curry bento and eats briskly, hurrying to the rooftop once the majority of students began swarming in. He turns around the corner from the stairwell exit, circling around the encasement structure thinking that he might find company. There was no one. What did he expect? And why did he feel slightly disappointed? It wasn’t as if they had an _agreement_ to meet here. It wasn’t as if they _were in agreement_. Shelving such pointless thoughts, he climbs up the ladder to his usual spot on top of the stairwell and naps.

  
That afternoon, Izaya had gone to the audio room with Shinra. It was a routine they had whenever Izaya calls on him during lunchtime to fix an injury. Shinra’s father is an underground doctor and something of a self-made scientist, albeit a questionable father figure; he would often bring Shinra to assist him with operations since he was a toddler and even let him wield the scalpel on occasion. One such occasion was when he had chanced upon a _Dullahan_ , an immortal _faerie_ from Irish mythology that by no logic exists in this mortal realm. Shingen had given his son liberty to dissect her pale flesh which appears in every way human, except that her integument was held together by a viscous black matter that morphs into shadows to seal any cut or wound. That day, Shinra’s life changed. He arrived in school the next morning and burst through the doors of the classroom proclaiming loudly that he was in love. He had fallen in love with a caucasian— headless— mythical— god of war. The entire class burst out in hysterical laughter at Shinra’s “crazy antics again”, but Izaya knew better. He sealed his lips that had involuntarily parted, slid his gaze towards the window, and threw his feelings out.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

  

 

_time heals and time kills_

_at the slow effacement of Time's merciful hands,_

_these feelings, these thoughts, these people ..._

_they march on with the beat to their silent deaths_

_(but i do not forget)_

 

The audio room was cold, dark and devoid of people as usual, dim light carrying the oppressive weight of memories containing lunchtime episodes of a boy’s fingertips pressing warmth into the other’s skin. Back then, they would spend long afternoons with Izaya lounging on the table, Shinra absorbedly feeling every contour, jagged edge and crater littering Izaya’s body with the pads of his fingers. The two had been classmates since middle school and Shinra had volunteered to patch Izaya up once when the infirmary nurse was away on a business trip. Izaya had skeptically agreed, noting the boy’s fidgety countenance as indicative of suppressed intentions. He very quickly deduced the explanation being a secret fetish for scars, correction: burns and scabs, initiating their relationship out of amusement when he removed his shirt revealing a marked terrain. Shinra’s eyes lit up, gleefully smoothing his palms over rough layers of skin half-formed over repeated abuse. Izaya found the absurdity of Shinra’s childlike exuberance over something so worthlessly tiny absolutely hilarious. He doesn't know when he started feeling very fond of this strange boy but he definitely knew how — curiosity, it always starts with objective curiosity. For everybody else it usually ends there as well but Shinra was different. It intrigued him endlessly how Shinra was so similar to himself yet their characteristics were completely different; Shinra was a bright light, whereas he was made of something much more sinister, more… impure. Izaya began spending most of his school hours observing Shinra’s every quirk, every gesture, every expression while Shinra chatters away about gruesome encounters far removed from the realities of middle school children in a banal classroom. Shinra’s excitement was infectious and oftentimes Izaya would find himself clutching his belly, beads of tears forming at the crooks of his eyes from laughing too hard at Shinra’s hyperbolic animations. Shinra was a brilliant storyteller who brought tales of a different world. Izaya admired this boy who lives loudly with joyous abandon, apparently impervious to social obligations such as forming friendships or classroom bonding. He was a person who didn’t need this world, and that seemed like a magnificent way to live.

 

Now they have returned to the same room again, Izaya sitting at the edge of the table languidly waving away photons of nostalgia clinging onto the hairs of his skin. Shinra walks towards the table and asks in his usual chirp, “So what is it this time, Orihara-kun?” If it wasn’t already evident from the way he never uses Izaya’s given name, or the way he still attaches the ‘ _-kun_ ’, Izaya knows the chasm that is present between them from the way he stands at arm’s length, the distance yawning of tedious acquaintances rather than friends. They might have gotten fairly close at one point but they were never _friends_ , Izaya knew that, their interactions hinging on a mutual satisfaction of individual needs and an understanding that they didn’t need to pursue further. “Ah, I’ve dislocated my shoulder. Bumped into a wall.” There was no need to justify his injury with a blatant lie or even provide one in the first place since Shinra never asks, but something compels him to put forth a test for no one; Shinra wouldn’t ask this time as well they never do, _they have an understanding_ , the question disguised as a statement set up for disappointment and Izaya nearly slaps himself. “Ha ha! I’ve never heard of anyone dislocating a shoulder by bumping into a wall before! I don’t even think it’s possible! Well, certainly the possibility is there the right word is _‘improbable’_.” Shinra corrects his redundant terminologies while making little arcs with Izaya’s arm, and in one swift motion jerks the ball joint back into its socket. Izaya chuckles as Shinra massages his shoulder gently to ease it into rotation, and over his shoulder Shinra doesn’t see his face fall. Through his shirt Izaya wills his nerves to hold onto the fleeting warmth of these fingertips again. Shinra doesn’t touch him anymore but still he collects these mounds and crevices across his body like new mountains and rivers to traverse through. “Alright, all done.” Shinra steps away placing his hands back on his hips and Izaya’s trademark smirk back on his lips. “Thanks,” Izaya replies and as an afterthought adds, “How’s Celty? She let you kiss her yet?” Izaya already knows the answer to this question but he asks anyway. He wants to hear it again, wants the answer like sharp knives thrown right back at him like darts on a board, another test, this time for himself.

True to his expectation a question about Celty instantly sends Shinra prattling off at trainspeed about how beautiful and wonderful she is. Izaya boards a different train bound to nowhere. “... … You know, she let me kiss her hand!!!!! Ahhhhhhhhhhh I nearly died from happiness isn’t she such a _Darling_?? She’s the most beautiful woman in the Universe, my Celty~~~ Oh, oh! And she said that it’s okay for me to stroke her clavicles last night… … ”

Izaya’s train is buried somewhere under the Bull’s Eye of _Daisetsuzan_ by now. He dredges himself out of the thick snow in his mental forest to squeeze out a cackle from his chest, and the usual reply, “I don’t think anyone else but you would find a headless woman attractive, Shinra.” Shinra places a dramatic hand on his forehead, and hops onto a stool. “And yet the world hails the beauty of Venus De Milo! She’s only beautiful _because she doesn’t have arms_. The absence of her limbs evokes mystery, a perpetual fill-in-the-blank of what she might have been doing. That’s what makes Celty so interesting too! I’d poke at her just to imagine what expressions she would have on her face …”

“Right, right. Sound theory. Not sure if that applies only to statues of mythical beings or actual, in-real-life mythical beings too though.” Shinra could go on forever and Izaya admits to himself that he has had enough knives for a day. He excuses himself and saunters out of the room before he could hear Shinra’s adamant protest that Celty is in fact very human et cetera et cetera, he feels the gloom fill his body, already effacing the warmth of earlier tenderness and heads for the one place he knows he doesn’t have to pretend. Out on the roof he drapes his arms over the railings and cradles his head in his elbow. The wind caresses his hair, memories of soft fingertips and effervescence evaporating into the air. Izaya closes his eyes and lets his voice be carried away with it when he whispers, “Anyone will do. Just fill me up…”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for the slow update! Work got busy all of a sudden last week.  
> I'm starting to worry about pacing and potential plot holes from writing on the fly like this, but for now...  
> Here's a new chapter ^u^
> 
> For those who follow my other work, I haven't abandoned it!  
> I just ended up writing the last chapter instead of continuing the story (lol!)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. All kudos and comments are greatly appreciated <3


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

_ i hold certain facts from which i cannot separate.  _

_ what I know, what is certain, what i cannot deny, what i cannot reject.  _

_ what other truth can i admit without lying, without bringing in a hope i lack, which means nothing in my condition?  _

_ i don’t desire to be shielded from the unyielding evidence of a life without consolation. * _

  
  


Shizuo opens an eye, the sound of a click and soft creaking piquing the tips of his ears. He stills for a while, then following the silence props up his torso with an elbow. A tuft of black hair peeks out from below the stairwell and Shizuo immediately rises to his feet. Subconsciously he holds his breath, not daring to exhale the molecules that threaten to agitate the image before him. From his high vantage point he watches Izaya’s back hunched over the railings, hair sweeping over an exposed cheek. An immeasurable amount of time passes before a faint murmur recalls him back into the present. Shizuo’s heart stirrs, the fibres of his being shuddering at a vague anxiety towards something which cannot be named; He only sees the sunlight glancing off of Izaya’s shining head and for a moment Izaya disappears, swallowed by light, and in the seconds he take to widen his eyes he hurdles across the ledge of the stairwell, landing with both feet on the ground in a loud thump. He raises his head, a bright glint causing him to squint, taking his eyes away from a familiar silhouette. “ _ Arara _ , what do we have here? A beast?” A familiar voice. Shizuo lets a lungful of air out. “I don’t suppose beasts have any concept of personal space,  _ ne _ ?  _ Shizu-chan? _ ” Shizuo blanches at the awful bastardisation of his given name and snaps his knees upright, coming face to face with a silver blade pointing straight at his nose. “... The Fuck is that girly crap. My name is Heiwajima Shizuo!” He feels the heat spreading across his face over his ears and down his neck, and grits his teeth in an attempt to halt his body’s reflexive tendency to betray obvious embarrassment. Izaya chuckles lightly, curling the left edge of his lips upwards into a smirk as he glares at Shizuo and tilts his chin downwards to square his knife at Shizuo’s face with the whites of his eyes. “I know who you are,  _ Shizu-chan _ . I simply don’t see why a human name would befit an animal such as yourself. Why are you following me?” The venom dripping from Izaya’s tone seep into his pores and burn his blood. Shizuo clenches his fists to prevent his muscles from recoiling, but the blood vessels on his forehead pulse in spite of his valiant effort. 

“I wasn’t  _ following _ you, louse. I was  _ here first _ ,” he growls between ground teeth.

“Oh I’m suuuure you were here first, even before you transferred over in the middle of the semester you’ve been hanging out on this drab rooftop. Did you like it so much you’d take the train everyday from your previous hometown— where was that—  Saitama? To nap on this roof?”

“... What the—  How do you— ” 

“I know many things, Shizu-chan, the information is there for those who can get their hands on it.”

“What...!?”

“Ahh, with so many police records, it’s honestly not even a challenge. Let’s pick a random one…” 

Izaya flicks out a smartphone with his left hand and with a few clicks pulls out a PDF from a folder and begins reciting, “Saitama Police Department Report # 1562 0464 0701, Date of Offence 27 November 2015, Heiwajima Shizuo, Boy, 16 years old arrested for destruction of a breadshop, property belonging to… …” 

Shizuo’s eyes widen, colour draining from his face, his ears rejecting every sound and his brain no longer registering anything being said. His hatred towards the boy for dredging up his hatred towards himself is altogether too much hatred for one body to take, his brain chants hate hate hate for the smug mouth that carelessly undoes him with a sing-song, the literal lengths he goes away from his family and his brother to become human a mere stranger and not a monster again, and here is the one to ruin it all arrogant cocky bastard pampered on his highchair a good brain a pretty face for one who has never suffered in his life how dare he trample over everything with a flip of a phone how dare this person “ORIHARA IZAYAAA!!!!!” 

In a flash, Shizuo grabs the fist holding the knife and with his right hand snatches the phone, squeezing it into scrap metal, pummeling the debris into Izaya’s abdomen. Izaya’s legs give out and he crumples into himself coughing, held from becoming a pile on the floor only by the grip of strong fingers curled around his own. Izaya takes a moment to gather himself and Shizuo does the same, the burst of energy providing a moment of relief when suddenly he notices the hand straining against his grasp and his fury dissolves completely. “… Is that why you’ve come to Ikebukuro, Saitama? Trying to escape the horrors of your reality with a single punch?” Izaya grits his teeth, expecting another blow, but when none came he sneaks a peek at Shizuo. He furrows his brows, uncomprehending why Shizuo had suddenly gone frozen when it dawns on him as he traces Shizuo’s line of sight. Izaya’s long sleeve had been pulled down when he collapsed from the impact, revealing snaking rope burns still raw on his flesh. He presses his lips together and swiftly releases the knife, catching it with his left hand; He swipes at Shizuo’s chest, with that single slash releasing the hold on his right. Keeping his advantage of having caught Shizuo off guard, he hops a step backwards to sit on the railing, ensuring a safer distance and an escape route. A small stinging sensation that feels more like an annoying prickle draws Shizuo back to his senses and he looks down to find a patch of red spreading out from a gash in his uniform, the colour dyeing his irises and staining his vision. He whips up his head to see Izaya sitting on the railing, flicking the slender blade of his pocket Stiletto knife open and close, his lips stretched in a manic grin. It sends him over the edge, well beyond the fence of reason, and Shizuo doesn’t try to breathe away his fury this time. 

“Orihara Izaya _ -kuuuun. _ Get back here, you Goddamn Flea..!!!” 

“ _ Ara iiyada _ , I’m a flea now? Looks like your vocabulary is sorely limited to wingless insects. How distasteful. Let’s not try conversation and play a game instead. I’ll let you have the rooftop if you can catch me. How about it?”

“I’ll catch you and beat the shit out of you!!!” 

Shizuo lunges at the flea but Izaya vaults himself out of harm's way effortlessly, and runs down the railing with the light-footed grace of an acrobat on a tightrope. He throws back a smirk and cackles, “hehehahaha!!! I don’t expect anything less from a violent beast, that is, if you can catch me. Isn’t this fun? An exciting game for a  _ monster _ ?”

“ORIHARA IZAYAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!”

Channeling his rage into pure energy he grips the horizontal bar of the railing and uproots it from the concrete. Section by section the supports pop out of the ground and Izaya shivers, genuine shock buzzing all over his body at the sight of such terrifying strength in action, the exhilaration of being on the receiving end of it. He had had a taste of it before but he never could have guessed the extent of it, so out of this world, so…… wonderful. So wonderful indeed. For a moment he felt as though the strength in his legs was being sapped by this massive black hole that keeps growing larger and larger, he looks down to find himself clearly lifted into the air and he trembles, unable to move an inch, his brain still failing to parse the fact that such an unimaginable being exists right before him; the railing is tilting still, reaching an angle that his hurt ankles cannot handle and he slides, as if being dragged hapless into the eye of the storm, he wonders if he can roll off and land onto the parapet but the distance to the ground seems unlivable should he miss. He tries anyway. He rolls off the tilting bar and stretches his hands out, barely grabbing onto the last rung of the railing, kicking his legs to toe the parapet. 

“... SHIT! FUCK! FLEA!” 

Shizuo freaks out when he realises what he had done. He flings the torn up railing behind him hoping to toss the body into the air again but Izaya’s fingers slip. His eyes widen to match Izaya’s when he sees that the flea is falling, he sees a small smile appear on the flea’s face that shouldn’t be there, it looks too sad, his mind numbs and lets his body take control. Izaya thinks he probably deserves it when he feels the cool air in his palms. He has lived a life without regrets but this may be the first; after all he hasn’t had enough fun with this newfound superhuman beast yet. It’s too bad, he smiles fondly, taking in the wrath of this beast for a last time. Just as he surrenders to gravity, strong arms grab his to resist it. He looks up to see Shizuo’s face contorted into an expression he fails to understand. “I’ve caught you. Damn flea.”  _ Fucking scared the hell out of me _ , Shizuo says in his own mind but not out loud, his heart is in his throat and he finds it difficult to speak. Izaya grins, his eyebrows soft, a barrage of complex emotions he hasn’t felt in a so long and needs time to sort. “Oh no you didn’t,” he says and twists his wrists away, he feels the parapet beneath him now and crouches down on it. From there he grips onto the ledge and drops his body through the open window of the room underneath. Shizuo watches as Izaya disappears and lets his own body drop heavily onto the floor, feeling completely exhausted.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy (advanced) Chinese New Year to all who celebrate it in this fandom!
> 
> (*) - and I might as well explain some things, I was rereading Albert Camus' Myth of Sisyphus recently and so many phrases strike a chord in my inner Izaya. I'll probably be injecting some of his philosophies, for example this opening (and probably the next (I already KNOW what it MUST be)), and some of Izaya's future psychobabble. 
> 
> Also, I know I'm making up some stuff like Shizuo's previous hometown but hey I did tag "AU- Canon Divergence" yes? So I randomly picked 'Saitama' because... my awful sense of humour and i really can't tell where would've been a good location anyways.
> 
> Cheers to a long weekend, and Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

_a step lower and strangeness creeps in:_

_perceiving that the world is ‘dense’, sensing to what degree a stone is foreign and irreducible to us,_

_with what intensity nature or landscape can negate us. at the heart of all beauty lies something inhuman._

_they lose the illusory meaning with which we clothed them, becoming more remote than a lost paradise. *_

 

“Fuck! _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…_ ” Izaya crash lands onto the floor of the empty classroom, hard, muttering curses under harsh breaths. The adrenaline from his earlier brush with death had not nearly dissipated, but merely relocated to a lower region, manifesting as a painful strain against his pants. He hurriedly fumbles to unfasten the belt and zipper to release his bulge, an unmistakable arousal springing into life. Right then and there, with his back propped up against the wall, Izaya wraps a hand around his throbbing erection and strokes himself with a desperation that seeks no remorse. His whole body feels as if engulfed in flames; his eyes screw tightly shut as he relives the teetering sensation of euphoria in a moment of vertigo, the moment his body recognizes with heightened awareness of being alive and acknowledges the seduction of death as not a _fear_ of falling but a _desire_ to fall; the split-second fantasy that plays in a delusional mind of yearning to be saved, the ambivalent relief that washes over with reluctance like a second-coat of undrying paint when he indeed was saved; the shame of maybe having to grimly admit that there might be some truth to Shizu-chan’s candid remark on fatalism after all, _Shizu-chan_. “Nghhaa… haa… Shizu-chan. Shizu-chan. Shizu-chan...!” The name leaves his throat an aural crescendo of his climax, as if invoking the name of the accused to expel the blackfire rampaging throughout his system. He bursts through the seams of his fingers pure and white hot, interposing the lingering touches of hot clammy palms clasping over his fist and that singular thought drives his hand back over his cock showing no sign of refraction, the conjured image of Shizuo covering his length with large hands propelling his mind beyond the stratosphere, into galaxies where the bright light of billions of stars become too dazzling to contain.

 

A ceiling away Shizuo lies deflated, arms spent in a spread-eagle, giving himself up to the skies. In the abrupt stillness that remains from receding violence he allows himself the calmness to think, to gather the sparse fragments that make up the puzzle called ‘Orihara Izaya’. He doesn’t know where or even how to begin. This person who had, just moments ago, dragged out the monster that he had painstakingly forced into hibernation with nothing more than a few words, a sly smirk. The thought of it sends his heart pounding rage into his limbs again. He smashes a fist into the ground beside him, defiant against the knowledge that the problem lies in himself; the fact that on the cusp of adulthood, he has still not yet managed to control his emotions; despite making a promise to his brother, he is going to fail him again; the fact that he has this inhuman strength in the first place… _How disgusting_ , he thinks, the desire to reject his own existence familiar like a second skin. He wishes to be normal like everybody else, like… _not_ _like Orihara Izaya_. He remembers the faint impression, the way Izaya spills over the edges of things, as if waiting to be spirited away. He remembers the buzzing in his chest at that thought, a single-minded chorus in his head saying _‘No’_. He had felt some sort of urge to protect this fragile existence, but he was wrong— this deceptively fragile existence is undoubtedly dangerous and perhaps ought to be protected _from_. But he had also been wrong to construe that boy’s self-absorbed aloofness and manner of superiority as symptomatic of a spoilt single-child brought up in a blessed, wealthy family. Those marks on his hand… How does one begin to understand a person via a catalogue of contradictions? “Ah,” Shizuo smacks his forehead when he remembers that he was supposed to apologize for having hurt Izaya’s ankles, yet seem to be repeatedly hurting them instead. He sighs a deep, broken sigh and heaves his body up from the broken ground, trudging away from the broken mess on the rooftop to change out of his broken shirt before returning to the classroom.

Shizuo finds Izaya already back in the classroom before him, absent-mindedly staring out of the window while tapping away on a pocket-sized netbook under the table with one hand. Guilt pulls his lips taut when Shizuo remembers that he had crushed the flea’s phone into smithereens earlier in an unstoppable impulse. Frustration plagues him as he tries to think of how to acquire the money to repay for it. He barely has enough money for his daily expenses even with a part-time job, which he holds in secret against the school rules. Just then, Izaya takes out a flip phone from his pocket with his other hand and began typing on it as well. Shizuo gapes, wondering just how many phones the flea carries around, shelving his earlier worry as the flea seems to be pretty wealthy after all. Izaya types away through the remaining classes, not even lifting his head occasionally to at least pretend to be listening. What Shizuo finds more odd is the fact that all the teachers seem to be pretending that they don’t see Izaya’s obvious inattention at all. His recent observations regarding the flea is causing a vague unsettling feeling to grow within him and Shizuo fidgets uncomfortably in his seat, unable to focus on the lessons being taught, the absurd tension he perceives suddenly unbearable.

 

Shizuo had dozed off at some point in time with his head buried in his arms, an awkwardly physical attempt to block out the strangeness of the classroom atmosphere. He has too many questions without answers and dreads the beginning of a headache, honest to the fact that thinking has never been his strong suit. He rouses to find the classroom nearly empty, save for the few on cleaning duty, Shinra among them. There was no evidence of Izaya, not even a single book left under his desk. Shizuo laments another missed opportunity to apologize. Guilt saps the most energy from him and the sooner he can rid it from his chest the better, he thinks. He approaches Shinra, wondering if Shinra still remembers him, on second-thought thinking it might be better if Shinra didn’t, he wanted no traces of his past. His hope was short-lived.

“... Oh! Heiwajima Shizuo! No wonder i thought that name sounded familiar. Wow you’ve grown so tall now, and your hair is blond! I totally couldn’t recognize you… What a coincidence that you’ve moved here too, huh?” Shinra looks up at him beaming, as if expecting a pleasant reunion of sorts, a situation that Shizuo has no clue how to respond to.

“Er… Yeah,” he mumbles awkwardly, deciding to get straight to the point. “Do you know where Orihara Izaya… kun went?”

Shinra blinks at him not masking his surprise, “Oh, Orihara-kun? … I didn’t know that you guys were acquainted!”

“Ah… No, not really, I just needed to pass him something,” Shizuo mumbles while shifting his eyes elsewhere.

“Well, he’s probably in the clubroom on the rightmost wing, fifth floor, third classroom. Look for ‘Biology Club’.”

“Thanks,” Shizuo says and turns to leave, glad to finally end the “conversation”. He feels slightly ashamed at having handled it poorly, but it has been a long time since he had conversed with anyone or even interacted with anyone in a way that was not called fighting. The idea of Izaya belonging to a club at all was another misfit puzzle piece, he thought, Izaya didn’t seem the type to belong anywhere. It slowly fell into place, though, when he reached the clubroom and tried looking in but found the windows tinted, the first sign of shadowy secrecy. He knocks on the door and in less than two seconds Izaya appears in between the gap of the door and the doorframe.

Izaya wrinkles his nose and raises an eyebrow, “Did Shizu-chan miss me already?”

Shizuo steels his jaw, repeating his mission in his head like a mantra. He raises his hand mechanically, saying, “Here. For your hand. And I’m sorry for hurting your ankles again.”

Izaya stares at Shizuo’s outstretched hand offering him band aids and for a moment was unsure of how to react. His mind switches to the only way he knows. He plucks up the band aids, holds them coyly in front of his face and says in a honeyed voice, “WoW!! Are these for me?? All three of them?? I’m, like, soOoOo Happy~!!!”

An interval of red-faced silence passes between the both of them before Shizuo turns wordlessly to leave, a sour taste in his mouth.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can this be considered fluff? Lol!!!
> 
> Happy Valentine's Day, from a very awkward and embarrassed Shizaya!
> 
> *Le Mythe de Sisyphe, Albert Camus


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

Izaya was unable to prevent the pink from creeping up unto his cheeks. It had only been a few hours since he had hedonistically indulged himself in the room he is currently standing in, and while he would often use the clubroom for illicit purposes from time to time anyway, a few hours is certainly insufficient to build a solid enough defence to face the appearance of the subject causing that renewed ache in his groin. It was _definitely not_ due to embarrassment at having just squealed like a girl that he would concede a blush, nor the fact of his inopportune biological reaction since it is perfectly understandable for boys their age to feel easily… excited. He was most definitely feeling embarrassed _for_ Shizuo and his idiocy, his lack of respect for others’ personal space, as if anyone would need band-aids to cover up such a tiny thing anyway? “Tch. Does he think we’re in a shoujo manga or something? Seriously…” Izaya clicks his tongue and deadpans, mustering the conscious effort to relax his muscles. He droops his shoulders and lowers his brain activity, internally visualising the powering down of his body. He feels his breathing slow to a minimum, his muscles slacken from extremity to core, his blood dissipating outwards in a crawl. After about four seconds, Izaya’s body is back under his strictly regulated control again. He looks at the band-aids in his hands with a neutral facial expression, and quickly tucks them away.

“ _Orihara-kun_. You done yet?”

A nasally voice calls out from behind him and Izaya spins around, shutting the door in one connected motion. He strolls leisurely back to his spot in a ring of five others, all eyes tracking him with varying degrees of nervousness. In the middle of the ring sits a sizable pile of coins and crumpled bills, the pot to a poker game that had been abruptly halted at its climax. Tension in the room had soared in the growing minutes of delayed conclusion but Izaya barely spares it a sweeping glance. He had only learnt of this game today, courtesy of a newcomer to their little gambling den, but he had already figured out it’s mechanics by now. One had better remain a calm exterior and not show a single sign of weakness. That’s right, there _is_ a term called _poker face_. Izaya chuckles to himself, honestly, this game was practically made for him. If he might so self-aggrandise, he thinks he probably would have created such a game himself, except that he finds dealing with cards as the only medium a tad boring. They’re so flat and lacking in visual appeal, after all, and with only thirteen different cards in four different suits the probabilities and combinations are fairly limited. He prefers something more alive, more… unpredictable. Which brings him back to this game that is still on-going and how he would rather it not. He had already begun to lose interest since earlier, and had taken out his netbook to finish up some work when a knock sounded against the door. Needless to say he had welcomed the distraction, and besides he and Shinra were the ones in-charge of the club.

“O-Oy, what you laughing to yourself about. It’s gross.”

The one who keeps speaking up in his nasally voice is the newcomer who had suggested they play poker and taught them the game. _Nakura_ , his friends had called him, and from his slightly larger frame to the way his voice runs off pitch every so often Izaya guesses that he is probably a grade senior, in the awkward stage of pubescence.

Ever since Izaya had successfully warped the meaning of ‘biology’ to include human psychology as an extension to understanding the workings of the brain, their “club activities” had slowly shifted to the tune of hedging bets for various predictions of human behaviour and gambling on their outcome. Much to Shinra’s chagrin, the clubroom had slowly livened up with a flow of students stopping by for laughs and a quick bet, though none of them actually joined the club with the exception of Kadota, who only ever joined because he liked animals and Shinra couldn’t bear to admit that animals were pretty far from the scope of his interest. With Izaya on the conductor’s stand, the club member recruitment was undoubtedly a failure but Shinra had not once interfered despite claiming his displeasure. It was too bothersome, really, and Shinra did not particularly care about this arrangement as long as he was not forced to join a more bothersome club. At times he even joined in with Izaya and his hodgepodge of random followers when curiosity kicked in, enticed by Izaya’s odd charisma. In class Izaya rarely interacts with anyone, yet within this clubroom, it was as if an entirely different persona was liberated; Izaya was charming, witty, and freakishly accurate in his predictions that oftentimes their betting sessions became a ruckus of shouts to bring the house down. Izaya seemingly revelled in the centre of attention, but Shinra did not miss the way his playful grin sometimes twisted into something more… something else.

"Calm down," Izaya sighs, "don't you wish to hold onto your money for a little while longer?"

Shit-talking is child’s play for Izaya and a tactic he would admit to using carefully. It has superb efficacy in getting on the nerves of those who lack self-control and confidence, but it certainly only works on amateurs. When facing actually dangerous people like the _yakuza_ for example, this tactic would only backfire with costly repercussions. But _Nakura_ is definitely not dangerous, and so he pushes.

"Bastard... How dare you disrespect your senior!"

“My apologies, Nakura-Senpai, how careless of me,” Izaya drawls, the edge of his lips cutting into a grin, “but in all honesty I had expected to be hustled here. Now I feel kind of bad, shall we just stop here?”

From the corners of his eyes he monitors the split-second flinch in the other boy’s brow and the tug on his lip. He considers the quality of the other’s movements up till this point and speculates that Nakura must have in his hands the cards to form a straight, since he had raised the bet with confidence on the turn before the final reveal of the river, which had everyone else quickly folding on the possibility of a straight or flush.

“Shut yer mouth,” the older boy growls, the scorn in his expression blown wide.

“Fine, fine, I mean no offence, but you should seriously pay attention. Or were you perhaps thinking that having a straight is good enough?” Izaya smirks, not even bothering to feign a tune of apology this time. He watches with mild amusement at the livid caricature of the older boy’s face and wonders to himself how anyone could bear to be this blatant and _obvious_. Most definitely a straight, or else something less impressive, either of which his hand should have no trouble contending with.

“I’m all in, by the way,” Izaya adds smoothly before pushing in the large pile of money at his feet. “Oh wait,” Izaya pauses to correct himself, “I’ll raise… What’s that, 3000yen? To match your all-in, okay?”

The grin stretches freely on Izaya’s face now to create a stark counterpoint to the other’s rage. It took several moments of palpable struggle before Nakura could snap out the words “I think you’re bluffing,” shove the last of his money into the middle with haphazard clinks and throw his cards face open. That really was succumbing to impulse, the heat of embarrassment at having one’s pride stripped by words alone. If he had thought through rationally he could have perhaps evaded humiliating defeat, for a less humiliating defeat. Either way it was humiliating and Nakura could not help but get tossed around by Izaya’s rhythm— his mind was in knots and completely unheeding even to himself.

“Not even a straight. I guess I had expected too much. Well, I’m gonna go now. Bye bye~”

  
Izaya gathers his belongings, scoops the entire loot into his book bag, and saunters out the door.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh.... So tardy with the updates. So sorry, the truth is, I got sucked into the world of Gintama and couldn't remove myself until I had finished all 300+ episodes of the anime and 500+ chapters of the manga (and then the OVAs). 
> 
> Also got lazy to write the little snippets on top &__&
> 
> Also going to Japan for 2 weeks! Gonna stroll Ikebukuro to spot flying vending machines ;)


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

The sun breaks gently over the school building, marking out the silhouette of a solitary figure perched high on the rooftop. Izaya had climbed into the compound at the crack of dawn, an act of facing the root of his insomnia by confronting the site of wreckage. He treads carefully around strewn metal and concrete, the bruise positioned just shy of his solar plexus throbbing slightly, his eyes trained on the section of uninterrupted view of the city. It truly is wonderful, he thinks, as he lowers himself onto the precipice, how unexpected it is that he has the beast to thank for this unexplainable sense of release. It isn’t as if he is so naive to inject symbolic meaning where they don’t exist, since their exchanges so far had been nothing short of hostile, but in this moment he feels too liberated to care much, the weight of denied sleep lifted and his spine tingles viscerally as if his body knows that the lightness of being could be unbearable. Izaya loves the sounds of the city and particularly enjoys watching it stir to life. The whir of vehicles unfurling along tendrils of tarmac, the chattering and shuffling blending into white noise, it’s bassy hum lulling him into much welcomed respite. He breathes a sigh and flops backwards, cushioning his head with his book bag like a pillow. He falls asleep within minutes, drifting through a soundless animation of his beloved city seething in conflagration with but one man emerging from the flames.

 

Izaya wakes up startled by rough claps against his face. He groans and cracks open an eye, bringing a hand to swat away the nuisance disrupting his hard-won sleep.

“Ah—” He pauses, when he sees the crumpled face of a janitor hovering some inches above his.

“Are you alright, kid???” The near-panic etched into his frown lines and the quaking timbre of his voice tells Izaya that the janitor must have been trying to wake him up for some time now. Izaya makes no sound to reply, instead focusing on that strange detail; he had always been a very light sleeper, and it seems unlikely for him to remain entrenched in sleep with someone in such close proximity and even touching his bare skin. He has a feeling that it must have been something, something vivid and important that was keeping him there, but he is unable to reach it, unable to feel the shape of a dream elusive beyond the barriers of consciousness.

“Kid! Keep yourself together! What happened here??”

“A-Ah, I’m fine, nothing happened. I was just taking a nap.” 

The janitor stares at the student in disbelief, then looks around over his shoulders. Izaya follows his gaze, pressing his lips together. In the starkness of the day the tatters of the railing look as if a flying object had crash landed there. Izaya gathers his wits, surely nobody can fathom that the disaster was in fact a person, though whether  _ homosapien _ was still in question.

“The roof was already in this state when I came up. I didn’t do this, obviously, I don’t think anybody could have done such damage. Maybe it was lightning or something.”

“That’s… true… It’s a mess up here. Hey, you’d better move away from there, it’s dangerous! Roof access is forbidden, you know. It was stated in your student handbook. There aren’t any safety barriers here.”

Izaya shrugs nonchalance, the janitor’s shoulders sagging in relief that the student was coherent and obviously unharmed. Izaya stretches his stiff back and hoists himself up, pirouetting to face the janitor with his best apologetic face, the insides of his brows raised to look almost innocent.

“So sorry, I really had no idea. Nobody really reads the handbook do they? It’s only my first year and I’ve been feeling kind of stressed out lately. The rooftop seemed like an ideal place to cool off. I’ll be careful from now.”

“Right… Final exams start next week, huh? I know that you kids have to study really hard. But don’t come up here again, alright? It’ll be bad if you get hurt right before your exams. Okay? Get going now, you should be eating lunch with your friends during lunch break. Goodluck for your exams.”

“Thanks… I’ll do that,” Izaya says in a meek voice while rubbing the back of his head, a gesture that he has acquired second-handedly and knew to incorporate in his own handbook of ‘ways to get out of troublesome situations’. So he had slept through the entire morning lessons. He must have been more tired than he thought. Whatever, it’s not as if the classes would be useful anyway since he was already ahead of the content in his self-study, he thinks, as he skips down the stairs two at a time, nearly clipping his shoulder against the wall as he swings around the corner.

“Ah. Hey.” The wall speaks. Izaya turns his head deliberately slow, preparing a lopsided grin to pair with the movement. Of course he recognizes that deep rumbling voice.

“A wild beast appears! Thinking of throwing me off the roof again? Kidding. But if you’re thinking of going up to the roof, I’d advise against it. The janitor is up there,” Izaya says in his typical sing-song, his mood still radiant with the afterglow of this morning’s serenity.

“Oh… I didn’t think you came”  _ I didn’t see you in class all morning _ “I was just thinking to clean up the mess I made yesterday,” Shizuo says, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Well, that’s not necessary. Now that the janitor has found out about the mess we probably can’t come up here for a while.”

Izaya sidesteps around the muscled wall and starts walking away, refusing to let the beginnings of awkwardness stain a ripple on the soothing calm. He is feeling self-conscious, very much aware that he had spent the whole of last night restless, repeatedly rehashing the scene on the rooftop and masturbating to it several times more. There is no way in hell that he would give it away or even admit to being turned on by the sheer power that lies within those lean and unassuming arms. 

“W-Wait…” Shizuo squeezes at the pocket linings, resisting the urge to tug at his fringe to shade his eyes. “I-I just want to talk.”

“What is it, Shizu-chan, I don’t remember you being adept at talking.” Izaya continues walking, the footfalls echoing behind informing him that Shizuo is following, but he doesn’t look back. He can already guess what Shizuo is about to ask.

“Don’t call me that shit. I mean. Erm. Those marks. Are they rope burns? Are your par—” 

“ _ Ara iiyada _ , is Shizu-chan concerned for me? You see something you weren’t meant to see and think you’ve figured me out?” Izaya tilts his head backwards to shoot Shizuo a smirk.

“I didn’t—”

“If you think it’s domestic violence then I’m so sorry to disappoint. It’s nothing as boring as that.”

“It’s not— Fine, then how did you get tho— ” 

“I don’t necessarily abide by your worldviews,  _ Heiwajima-kun _ , you’re entitled to do whatever pleases you and—”

“Arghhh!! Shut up!!! Can you stop cutting me off??” Shizuo huffs, his patience quickly wearing thin. It’s weird how Izaya could make his  _ actual _ family name sound like an insult. “Can’t we just talk normally?”

Izaya pauses mid-step, causing Shizuo to halt abruptly as well. They are approaching the corridor towards the classroom and Izaya would rather not talk about this openly or at all. 

“First you want me to shut up and then you want me to talk. Can you make up your mind?”

Shizuo sighs, burying his fingers in his hair. “Brat. I want us to talk without you cutting me off all the time! That’s rude!”

Izaya links his hands behind his back, rocking backwards onto his heels then coming up onto his tippy toes. “Fine. So what does Shizu-chan want to talk about?” 

“I….” Shizuo pauses, as if expecting Izaya to cut him off again, before continuing, “I want to know what your family is like.”

“That’s a rather personal question, don’t you think?” The grin is still fixed upon Izaya’s face but Shizuo can tell that they do not touch his eyes. “I don’t divulge my personal information to random acquaintances.”

“Random—! W-We could be frie…” The words slipped from his tongue before Shizuo could even attempt to take it back. Suddenly feeling the heat from Izaya’s gaze boring straight through his skin Shizuo dips his neck towards the floor, face flushed to match the clear crimson of Izaya’s eyes. Izaya breaks out into unbridled laughter and Shizuo flinches from the sharp sound.

“Friends…? Heheahhahahah!!!! What’s that? Is it edible?” 

“Y-You—!” Shizuo growls but his voice wraps softly around the word. He has never heard Izaya laugh before and somehow didn’t think that this intimidating boy was capable of laughing, genuinely at least, and can’t help but smile in return. 

“Brat,” Shizuo mutters under the harsh cackle which stops as abruptly as it had started. Izaya wipes a tear from his eye, his chest still rippling with internal laughter. He brushes past Shizuo to head for the classroom and glances back, holding Shizuo’s gaze with an amused smile.

  
“I have a perfectly normal family,” he says.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've read Saezuru Tori wa Habatakanai, you would've noticed that i made "Heiwajima Chikara" the "bansoko otoko" instead of Shinra who would be "Izayashiro's" unrequited love. I don't know, i kind of felt so sorry for yashiro that i had wanted some kind of penance, wanted to make up for it somehow so that he wouldn't have to suffer too long.
> 
> Edited after researching on Japanese high school system. Apparently they take mid-terms in May THEN final exams in July before summer vacation. The story is right around July, since i mentioned the heat of summer, so our babies will be facing exams next week~


End file.
